


sonnet forty-three

by sstarryknight



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-28
Updated: 2015-07-28
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:45:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sstarryknight/pseuds/sstarryknight
Summary: people keep leaving.





	sonnet forty-three

**Author's Note:**

> burps loudly. sonnet by elizabeth barrett browning. prompted and kinda-beta'd by raine as always omg this will be the last time i say that bc she alw prompts and kinda-betas me so yes. lol i still......don't know........how to write sehun........he is a mystery to me.......i tried.......OLLIES THE FUCK OUT
> 
> [ 150728 ]
> 
> \---
> 
> i'm importing some near-ancient fic from my old livejournal in the hopes of reviving my not-so-successful fic writing career. please bear with me!
> 
> [ 181219 ]

\+ _how do i love thee_

jongin knows sehun in many ways.

jongin knows sehun in the way sehun's scent clings to the flannel shirt he pulls over his arms, one sleeve and then the other. it doesn't really register anymore; one, because he doesn't register much at this hour when everyone prepares to leave for the studio--he considers it enough that he's managing to do up his buttons with his eyes closed--two, because he isn't sure which smell belongs to him anymore. the traces of sandalwood and petrichor and several other things he can't name have intertwined into something not quite jongin and not quite sehun. there's not a lot of boundaries left intact after ten years.

when he hears the inevitable snaps of the dslrs crowding the company vehicles, jongin knows the simple green and black flannel shirt, among other things, becomes a prop. the corner of his mouth quirks up mirthlessly as the words _couple shirt_ come to mind, strewn across the internet with the weight of a tabloid headline catered to the overactive imagination and the idle hands. he's not mad, or bitter, or annoyed. it's been a long time since he's accepted that the idol life means nothing is yours, truly yours, anymore--not your name, not your personality, not even your favorite color. everything the camera sees becomes another thing they think they know about you. there are some things, like his (their) shirt, that he wants to keep for himself.

but even that is selfish, jongin thinks.

\---

jongin knows sehun in the way sehun's palm feels against his, more so on stage than off of it. off stage, sehun's hand is as good as any blanket. slipping into it is easy, not at all urgent or needed, but pleasant. safe.

on stage is a different story. on stage is where kim jongin almost, almost loses himself every night. he works hard to build up kai to perfection, hard enough that he isn't sure how to find his way out of the spotlights, the costumes, the music, whether he _can_ or not. everything is too blinding, too deafening, and all jongin knows is how to lose everything about him that doesn't involve the performance. then he feels sehun, feels before he sees--it could be his palm flat against his or his fingers curling mischievously around his wrist, stealing seconds of silent, tactile conversation in between formation changes, but--jongin feels him and then he's grounded. jongin remembers that he's not kai, not all of him, at least; he doesn't have to give all of himself to the stage, to the fans, to the camera.

there are things he can keep after all, like the words they exchange through their fingertips.

\---

jongin knows sehun in the way his eyes curve upward as they spot each other in a crowd--company events, award shows, inter-group stages. he doesn't mind getting separated, but being surrounded by so many people at once is slightly disconcerting for a person who likes to spend what little free time he has reading. the familiar is always a welcome sight. taemin is mirrored walls and muscle memory, kyungsoo is late-night fast food runs, wonshik is the warmth and sweetness of overpriced lattes, junmyeon is the safety net of extra pocket money when he runs short. jongin loves them all, but sehun feels a little bit more like home.

\---

jongin knows sehun in the way he laughs like such a boy inside the convenience store they’re supposed to be buying chanyeol’s gift in. the cameras may be rolling, but this is sehun; they don’t put on acts, nothing about them is ever an act. they’re just two kids who want to catch a break, so they do. sometimes jongin forgets what it’s like to lose his breath laughing rather than lose his breath running choreographed routines twenty times in a row.

\---

jongin knows sehun in the way sehun lifts jongin’s blanket and crawls under it, pressing his face against the back of jongin’s black cotton t-shirt. jongin knows it’s going to be a long night when he feels two warm, wet spots forming on the material of his shirt, right where sehun’s eyelids should be. beneath the streak of snark one develops when one’s role in the group is whittled down to nothing more than _maknae_ , sehun is fragile, though he would never admit it. sehun loves too much and falls too hard and the thought scares jongin quite a lot because sometimes he isn’t sure how to pick up the pieces but he has to make sure he does because he doesn’t trust anyone else to do it.

jongin shifts around under the blanket until he’s facing sehun, caging him in his arms so sehun’s head is against his chest and jongin is met with a faceful of unruly black hair. sehun has his hands fisted in jongin’s shirt like he’s hanging onto a buoy; jongin can’t do much else but press comforting kisses to the top of sehun’s head.

“don’t you leave, kim jongin,” sehun whispers, the cracks in his voice like nails digging right into jongin’s heart. “i can’t do this alone. don’t you leave.”

jongin’s arms tighten around him protectively as he wonders: what can he say? what can he do? to make him believe that not everyone disappears? the best he can manage right now is to whisper back, “i’m not going anywhere. i’m right here. right here.”

as sehun’s sobs even out into easy breathing and his fingers loosen around the shirt, jongin realizes one of the many, many beautiful things about sehun is that he still trusts. jongin doesn’t think the world can break sehun enough for him to stop loving too much or falling too hard.

things will be better come morning. maybe not fine, but better. because jongin’s made a promise, and he keeps his promises.

\+ _let me count the ways._


End file.
